Of Love and War
by cassowary
Summary: Just before Lily's wedding, she still has a few things to settle with Sirius Black.


"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to outshine the bride, Padfoot."

"I wouldn't, Lily, you know that. And I'd have to work too damn hard to pull that off, what with the way you look today."

And indeed, Lily Evans was radiant when she blushed across her golden freckles at the compliment and gave a small grin, emerald eyes alight; her dress was the lightest shade of peach instead of white in order to compliment the loose waves of deep red hair falling about her slim shoulders.

The young man called Padfoot smiled back. It wasn't the same kind he usually wore, one that called to mind a feral laughing black dog. There was a softer side to Sirius Black, though few had ever gotten the opportunity to see.

Then again, rare was the occasion that the tall Animagus even bothered to look halfway presentable.

The two studied each other closely for one long moment.

Through the closed door of the bridal dressing room, they could both hear the soft murmur of the few guests to Lily's small wedding; Remus and Peter were at the church doors shaking hands and ushering the ladies, and James was God only knows where, probably downing a bottle of champagne this instant to steel his nerves (he'd always been _terrible_ before Quidditch matches and dates, though Sirius was the only person who knew this).

And Lily's smile dropped.

"This is too complicated," she sighed heavily, her once-bright green eyes dropping to the dainty pearly shoes that just peeked out from under her long gown.

She looked anywhere but at her fiancée's best friend, who himself was a painful image of perfection (no wonder they hadn't gotten along), and she could feel his slanted pale blue eyes practically undressing her, and she wondered not for the first time what in hell she was thinking, getting into this.

Sirius quirked one delicate brow in the way only a Black could manage elegantly.

"Why?"

He was being a bastard, Lily knew, because he'd always been an utter bastard, he was just like that and there was no changing it—he liked to watch people squirm; he was worse than _Sev_ ever was in that regard, at least Sev had a sense of empathy—and he could probably see or feel her face heating under all of her makeup.

But Lily Evans was no liar, and she followed through on her promises: there was an engagement ring on her finger, and there was no way she would let her trademark courage fail mere _minutes_ before her own wedding.

Their eyes met, emerald and ice, challenging, her right hand cramping on the pressed left sleeve of his jacket.

"You love James too, don't you?"

"_Don't_ you? Yes or no?"

There wasn't much humor in his smile now, perfect and arrogant as it was. It was an expression Lily _loathed_; one that had preluded misery and mayhem. It was the kind of smile Sirius smiled when he was feeling Black, when he tortured Sev—_Snape _for no reason other than amusement, probably the very thing Sev thought of when he accepted the fucking Dark Mark. It was the kind of smile that Bellatrix Lestrange smiled when the word "crucio" passed those lovely scarlet lips of hers (Lily had only seen her once, on Order business, and _never_ wanted to see her again).

Lily Evans, James Potter's bride-to-be, wondered if Sirius had ever considered orchestrating her demise so he could have "Prongs" all to himself.

"Do you hate me, Lily?"

She considered. It would be so easy to fear, and yes, hate, the man standing before her, cold and cynical as he could be. But she remembered a sixteen-year-old boy, lost and alone after a full moon and night of betrayal and madness. He hadn't been so beautiful or proud then, with the mark of James' fist across his cheekbone.

"No," she shook her head carefully,

"I care about you...and I'm sorry for you."

He growled, low in his throat, like a dog.

"Never say that, Lily. There's _nothing_ to be sorry for."

Their positions had switched; his big, graceful hand in soft white leather gloves had closed tight, almost painful over the young woman's slim, freckle-dusted wrist, and there was an obvious dominance to his stance as he stared down at her, a curious touch of bitterness in the twist of his lips.

"I love a good fight as much as anything, but even _I_ know when I've lost."

"You've given up?" Lily demanded, sharp and surprised.

"In the middle of a war, when any of us could die at any time, you've _given up_?"

His grip relaxed a bit, he flashed his teeth in his typical cocky grin.

"I'm a dog, Lils. Prongsie's the alpha male; I know better than to oppose his mate...which is _you_."

"So what?" the redhead pressed again, aggressively. Really, something she hated even more than pure evil was defeat—of anyone. Defeatism was the reason wars were lost, why she and Sev drifted apart, and the articles she read in the _Daily Prophet_ every day made her realize the urgency of the time.

Lily Evans could just as easily be the next muggle-born victim lying dead and alone in a shattered house. If nobody fought, if nobody cared about anything, Voldemort may just as well have won. That was why this was important, why it was worth fighting this out with Sirius.

If Sirius gave up on this, Lily was afraid he would give up everything else: his fight against his family, maybe even his own life.

"You love him too, so why don't you fight me?"

The Animagus couldn't supress a smile reforming. This was what he loved (and hated) about Lily Evans. She was so fiery and stubborn despite her illusion (it _was _only an illusion) of reason. There were few people harder to to argue with, but she insisted, and she was a fighter until the end.

It didn't hurt that she was quite some eye-candy, either, thought his inner dog.

He thought about the girl who fought with him when his life was hell, made him angry and determined again to win back his friends; the people he loved; she had literally saved his life in that awful two months when Prongs had given up on him, and they both knew it. James knew it, too.

And that was why—

It was easier to fight, it was in his nature, but he had to tell Lily this. He had to repair anything broken between them, because he had already made up his mind.

Lily's eyes were _fucking_ green, it didn't even seem natural, and they were burning like sunlight and fire and gemstones through welled-up tears in danger of smudging her makeup.

"You're afraid of the war, aren't you?" he asked, would-be casual, but winced inside. It was a heavy-handed start.

She didn't need to answer.

And he moved closer, so they were practically chest-to-chest, hands held tight, like proper lovers, he thought with a smirk, then drew a deep breath. It was time to face his own fears once again.

"Because you and James are all I've ever wanted, and I love you both more than anything...I want Prongs to smile, and have his own family, and you're perfect for him, Lily."

He was in danger of losing his nerve, he never talked to anyone like this, because he'd never needed to speak to James with words, close as they were.

"I want you to make our Prongsie happy for me."

Lily had a stubborn, stubborn glare stuck on her face, and it didn't suit her.

"So, I'll fight...for the both of you. I'll do anything to keep you both out of the war."

"And if we _want_ to fight for ourselves?"

"I can't stop you. But I won't hesitate to jump in front of any curses for you, or even kill for you, if necessary."

It was true, Lily could tell. Their friend only spoke truth about that, but he was looking once again like the mischievous Marauder that he'd been in school, with that scary twinkle in his eye.

"I _do _have my conditions, though."

The young woman did not even attempt to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

"And what could those be?" she asked dryly, shaking her head. Padfoot was always Padfoot, no matter how sappy he was getting, and she could practically see his tail wagging.

"Well..." the tall man started slowly, in that disturbing way of his, building up suspense.

"One: The first child will be named Elvendork, regardless of gender. It's unisex, you see."

"Of course, how considerate of you," Lily grumbled. There was no way in hell she would name a poor, innocent child "Elvendork."

Then again, was any child of James Potter ever going to be innocent?

"Two," continued Sirius, "if you and Prongs are ever feeling...adventurous, consider me a number one volunteer if you need a third."

"That's disgusting, Padfoot," was the indignant protest, but Lily's freckled cheeks were beginning to blush without the help of any powder or paint.

"Three: you have to _promise_ me that you'll let me die first."

That dog could be so selfish, sometimes, Lily thought angrily as she wrapped her arms around his waist and looked up at his half-joking face.

"Don't even mention it. We'll all get through this, and me and James will be doting, doddering grandparents while you'll be a dirty, philandering old man."

Inconsiderate of the time it took to style her hair, Sirius buried his face in her red curls, and she could feel his smile against her skull.

"I hope so. I'd be an extremely irresistible dirty old man. And I don't think I'd ever be able to live with myself if I lost either one of you."

The two stood together in a long, warm embrace, and to Lily's horror, she could feel her eyes beginning to spill over with tears. She never thought that any of this would happen, she never thought that she would ever be able to settle this; especially not to win such devotion from her fiancée's mad dog of a best friend. And yet, he was happily sacrificing himself to protect her and her happiness. Neither one of them would ever stop fighting..._together_.

When they broke apart, Sirius's eyebrows shot up as he studied the shorter woman.

"Damn, you'd best get yourself cleaned up. We can't have you walking down the aisle looking like such a mess."

"You bastard," Lily answered without much heat, studying her own reflection in the vanity. Her eyes were rimmed with red, mascara smeared and foundation streaked; her once-carefully arrayed hair completely disheveled. Sirius mock-saluted her behind her back in the mirror, pushing one sleeve up to check his silver watch.

"Looks like I should get going—it'd be a real shame if I distracted the bride any more. Best of luck to you and your hair."

"Don't rub it in, Padfoot. You're lucky you can get away with just putting it in a ponytail," Lily growled at him, already dusting at her tear-streaked face with a powder puff. She didn't look up as he turned away and walked to the door, hand on the knob about to turn.

"Oh, and Lily?"

"_What_?"

"The kid's name is Elvendork. And..." he paused, his tone becoming more serious, "take good care of Prongs for me."

"You didn't even have to ask."


End file.
